MÖRK BORG: Chapter I: Nurse the Rot

[Raid]

Seeing his current companions turn their attention to and enter the entrance to Chapel, Fechr surreptitiously pulls the severed arm he's been carrying for the last few days out from the bush he's been hiding it in. Alpha wags his tail in expectation. He wafts it through the campfire in an effort to burn away as much of the dirt and rot as possible, and offers it to the small dog. After a few moments of gnawing on one of the elegant fingers, Alpha retreats to chew his mouthful, and Fechr moves on to the next digit. Seeing that the rest have all now entered, he places the remains back in his hiding bush, and as Fechr slings his new axe across one shoulder, Alpha leads the pair inside.

[Sly Boots]

Just waiting on Eny and Snowy now, I think?

[Stormbringer]

Fechr surreptitiously pulls the severed arm he's been carrying for the last few days out from the bush he's been hiding it in.

Hopefully this isn't Aunt Marathuk's arm...

[Raid]

That depends on whether anyone saw him do it.

[eny]

Lungs full, and ready to be cleared, of the foetid stench that has filled them with every breath of a long and wearing journey; a straining body whose pain is aggregated by the slime and silt of making slow progress through the marsh; creaking legs weighed with the increasing realisation that this new assembly might be riddled by They, finally catching up with me after my long escape; I approach this sepulchre with a wary, super-sensitive glare and consider assembling my chaotic thoughts and feelings into yet another unappreciated musical masterpiece as I set-up my favoured irregular tuning on my lute, and tentatively and soddenly enter the unwelcoming and foreboding crumbled arch...

[Sly Boots]

Any time you wanna walk into this crypt, Snowy... -_-

[Animalmother]

I suppose someone could just step outside and shove him in..

[Snowy]

Just waiting on Eny and Snowy now, I think?

Further apologies for causing of delays. And now in character...

Come Sploooooooom, let us consecrate this foul place. Where did I put my censer? And my incense?

/squirts some perfume on a tatty length of cloth and proceeds to waft it in a vague imitation of an incense censer, before entering the crypt.

[Wrathbone]

Now that we’re all inside, what do we see?

[Stormbringer]

Barbarister, scowling arrogantly at this bungling crew he's forced to accompany through laws of inheritance, follows Grin through the wide archway into the gloomy interior of the chapel.



ACT I: SCENE II

The party has stepped out of the miserable lashing rain into the sanctuary of the ruined chapel of St. Olundan.

It is cold and dark in here; the scant daylight that bleeds through the tarpaulin of thick cloud, perpetually blanketing the world, now filters down through the tall window-arches, spaced evenly along cracked and crumbling walls. These arches once housed beautiful panes of stained glass, but all that remains of these works of art lie shattered in a thousand shards across the dusty flagstones.

Other than these, the sanctuary has been stripped bare of any ornament or furniture; no doubt another victim of the raids by King Fathmu's soldiers.

At the back of the sanctuary, a flight of steep stone stairs leads down to the chapel's undercroft. The first few steps are visible in the wan light, but soon they're engulfed by total darkness.

The horse speaks to Lord Margar (though no-one else hears aught but a neighing noise).

BARBARISTER:
"If I may suggest, MY LORD, might it be wise for you and your...men...those who brought camping gear, to leave it here, in the chapel, before venturing forth into this undercroft? It will be safe enough from the rain, and less for you to carry. Don't worry, I shall keep an eye on it, for this flight of stairs does not seem fit for a horse to descend. Not one of my pedigree, at least..."

[Snowy]

Grin wanders forth into the dank chapel, peering at the remains and tutting. He calls Sploooooooom over and mutters to him. The flea-bitten monkey promptly defecates into one hand and splatters it onto a wall. Grin begins drawing what could be arcane and unholy symbols in the resulting mess.

[Wrathbone]

BARBARISTER:
"If I may suggest, MY LORD, might it be wise for you and your...men...those who brought camping gear, to leave it here, in the chapel, before venturing forth into this undercroft? It will be safe enough from the rain, and less for you to carry. Don't worry, I shall keep an eye on it, for this flight of stairs does not seem fit for a horse to descend. Not one of my pedigree, at least..."

I dutifully do as Barbarister says. Is it there any light coming from the undercroft? If not, I’ll light my torch and head down.

[Stormbringer]

The steps lead down into darkness.

[Animalmother]

A barely whispered, possibly imagined utterance "Of course you need a torch. Fuckwit!" seemed to emanate from Margar's belt.

[Wrathbone]